


To Hell and Back, For Love

by MentalMax, screamingmoth



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Love Confessions, Multi, Pat Fucking Dies, Spoilers ahead!, like at the very end, not a spoiler but Clayton's Got The Braincell, this is loosely based off the hades video
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29523681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MentalMax/pseuds/MentalMax, https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingmoth/pseuds/screamingmoth
Summary: a meeting to discuss a new video goes well.until it doesn't.--we saw the new hades video and was like "yo, what if there was Lore?"
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill, Simone de Rochefort/Jenna Stoeber
Kudos: 4





	1. and so it begins...

It was a charming day in Central Park, the sun was warm and the crystal blue sky was cloudless. The air was brisk and sharp, yet it was the perfect day for a picnic. It was for video research but usually out-of-office meetings just ended up with a nice dinner or merely being with each other. Patrick was there first, since he’d planned the meeting. He brought the stereotypical red gingham blanket and a few snacks, but the others were bringing food of their own. Brian liked to show up not long after Pat, not because he liked him in a Not Friends Way™, thank you very much. He did not have a crush on Mr. Producer Man Patrick Gill. Or his soft hair that would feel amazing to stroke, if he ever got the chance. Or his and his sharp jawline and grizzled stubble (with the little patch of white that Brian thought was adorable,) or his amazing laugh that only came as a reward for a good joke, like a gold star in grade school and-  
“Hey, Brian!”  
Brian mentally cursed himself out for his own ~~gay~~ panic or how Patrick Gill himself managed to startle him from his thoughts. They were the only people there. Pat stood awkwardly near a picnic table, his legs caught in the juxtaposition of the plastic table’s seats.  
Patrick was a friend of Brian ever since he had first joined the Polygon crew. It was scary and new, like all new jobs, but at Polygon it was more intimidating, as these people all were friends already and were expected to be friends on camera too. That was a lot, especially considering Brian had only worked with Laura and Jonah in the past, never such a large group of people at once.

“Oh- uh. Hey Patrick. I brought soda pop.” He said, accentuating the _p_ in _pop_. He gestured to the 2L bottle of store-brand orange soda and Pat chuckled as Brian handed it over.  
Patrick, however, had been friendly and amiable, albeit grumpy. He was always there to complain about tech issues or the crunch crisis in game studios. The crew was there for him, of course, but with Patrick, it felt real. There was a connection. Or maybe Brian was overthinking it. Hopefully not, as he’d spilled far too much personal stuff with him. But, to be fair, so did Pat.

“I haven’t heard someone call it soda-pop in a long time,” Pat paused, before speaking in a film noir detective impression, “though, I believe it can be traced back to the fact that you’re a big ol’ dork.” Brian laughed at that, setting down a pack of plastic utensils at the picnic table.

They had definitely shared some personal stuff, for example, it had been a hot Tuesday in New York, late may, and the office was smoldering. It was so humid, you could almost cut the air with a knife. The office’s AC was broken, and the crew was suffering. He and Pat were in the break room, trying to stay within the vicinity of the fridge.  
“Ugh,” Pat groaned, “It’s so hot I’d come out to my parents if it meant I could use their pool.” ~~Brian’s heart had~~ Brian, didn’t really care. Of course he would support Pat if he needed anything, but all in all, it didn’t change his opinion of him.  
Snapping back out if his thoughts, Brian looked to Pat.

“When’s everyone gonna be here? You said the meeting starts at five.” Brian queried.  
“You thought Simone was going to be early?” He joked, fiddling around with unsticking the blanket together.  
“Well, people other than Simone were invited!” Brian said with a grin, plopping down across from Pat.  
“You thought Jenna was going to be early? She's catching a ride with Simone.” He said as he lightly punched Brian’s arm, jokingly.  
Speak of the devil and it shall come, because soon enough Jenna and Simone piled out of a taxi, carrying in the grass a woven picnic basket as if it was a precious family heirloom, presumably full of goodies. So had Clayton and Josh, a few minutes before. Simone and Jenna had practically skipped, (albeit clumsily) to the table, waving at Pat and Brian. They flipped the cover of the basket, revealing an abundance of goodies.

“Howdy y’all. I brought brownies, and they have the good stuff.” Simone grinned almost wickedly, sharing a knowing glance with the others.  
“I brought some egg salad!” Clayton said, cheerfully ignorant to Simone’s glance. He set a beige tote bag on the table, pulling out a plastic freezer bag of pb&j sandwiches and a tupperware of egg salad. Pat turned to his own bag as he stared Clayton down, setting a tupperware of more sandwiches on the table. They were ham n’ cheese, gently (well, okay, more than that) burnt slightly (well, okay, more than that) on the bottoms.  
“Oh, we have a surplus of sandwiches today!” Brian giggled slightly, twirling his finger through his long-ish bastard blonde hair.  
“You brought egg salad in this weather?” Simone beautifully honked, laughed as she faked an angry tone at her friend.  
\--  
For the first twenty minutes of this picnic they actually talked about their newest video idea, but it wasn't long before friendly banter and too many sandwiches derailed their conversation. (Why didn't they coordinate snacks?) They moved the blanket onto the grass beside the table, bringing Simone’s fancy picnic basket with them. The brownies were all gone and a good portion of the soda had been drunk. The group of friends were together, sitting cross-legged in the grass.  
“Zeus is a hot man, I dunno what to tell you!” Brian said, tousling the back of his hair with his hand.  
“Ah Zeus, the God of Gods.” Clayton sounded almost dreamy, as he cut the crust off of Simone’s sandwich for her.  
“Yeah, he’s also the god of not keepin’ his dick in his pants.” Pat groused jokingly. Everyone burst out in a fit of laughter, slowly cascading back into quiet conversation.

They moved on to the grass, extraordinarily disoriented. Jenna was braiding Simone’s hair with dandelions. Nice in idea, less nice when the dandelion stem breaks and the juice’s break out just enough to make one feel uncomfortable but not enough to wipe up. Brian was laying on his back, barely tuned in to his friend's conversation. His vision was foggy. Hazy, almost. He saw Pat stand up in his peripheral and turned to look at him. Brian spotted something moving in the grass, but he wasn't sure if it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Everything became a blur soon after, followed by a loud yell and Pat collapsing in a dizzying amount of colours. He could barely feel himself stand up, as he stumbled over to Patrick. His face was sallow and gaunt. His eyes were half lidded and glazed over. Brian put his right hand over Pat’s chest and the other on his cheek. The shaking hand on Pat’s chest slid over to his neck to check for a pulse. Brian paled when there wasn’t a heartbeat under his fingers, tears beginning to spill over his cheeks.  
“No,” he faintly whispered to a soul that was slowly seeping out. Brian kept a hold of Pat's hand, desperately trying to hold on to what was left. He looked up, expecting to see familiar faces that hold sadness, panic, or life. He saw nothing. Nothing but broken trees and dying yellow grass, and the vast loneliness of losing someone he deeply cared for. He hunched over Patrick- no, not Patrick. That was no longer him. Just a vessel of slowly rotting cells.


	2. With Winged Shoes They Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pat's dead, he's sure of it. 
> 
> he's sure of it...... right?

Brian felt a presence over him, letting his eyes fall closed as he knelt beside the decaying body beside him, still holding his hand. He laid on his back, finding himself nostalgic for a few minutes. Nostalgic for living people. For a living Patrick. The presence picked Patrick up with ease, although he did not pick up the body. 

He picked up the soul. 

Brian could feel the spirit of Patrick leave, as Pat’s body became cold. Brian squinted open his eyes, only to have them bombarded with a holy splendor. When his eyes, blurry from tears and light, came to their sense, he saw the presence. The figure wore winged shoes, and a white cloak, embroidered with gold lace along the sides. He had large wings and a messenger bag. If this was not alarming enough, the face of the man was Josh.

“Josh? What are you-? How are you-” His words were alarmed and slightly fearful.

“I’m sorry traveler, I do not know of this Josh you speak of.” His smile contained multitudes. Confusion, kindness, but mostly pity. He gently reached out to offer Brian a hand, however, Brian declined. Trying and failing multiple times to get up. Eventually he did.

“What do you mean? Who are you then?” Brian sniffled, clumsily wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater.

“I am Hermes, god of the people.” He gestured to the sky with one hand. The other held Pat’s hand, as Pat looked solemnly down at his body. 

For a soul, he was rather blank and plaintive. Souls looked weird as hell, Brian realised. Patrick looked like a swirl of every colour, and then some. His heart and head were scarlet orange surrounded by saffron yellow. His joints were a light grass green, and his arms were the color of trees in summer. It faded from violet to lavender to periwinkle at the tips of the fingers. He was a sad mist of a man. Only colors and clouds remained of Patrick. He wanted to hold Pat’s hand. He shook his head like an etch-a-sketch to get rid of the thought, as a question popped into his head.

“Why are you here?” Brian was confused enough to mute his cries for at least a few minutes. 

“To take this soul.” He said plainly, with a look of pity crossing his eyebrows as Brian interrupted him.

“Can I come with you?” Brian asked quickly, with hope in his eyes. Hermes was puzzled. He studied Brian with his eyes. It was a very intimidating position from where he was hovering. 

“You do not know who I am, nor where I take him. Why do you do this?” Hermes questioned, enunciating each word, trying to ensure he was heard.

“Because he’s my friend,” Brian said, pushing his glasses up on his nose, as they were almost falling off. “And I want to make sure he’s alright- wherever he goes.” Brian chuckled awkwardly, giving passage to tears coming out quicker than he could wipe them away. The words barely felt like they left his mouth.

“You are very brave. I cannot, however, take you directly to the underworld.”

“Why not?” He asked, even though the answer was unbelievably obvious.

“I am not allowed to take you, directly.” Hermes spoke slowly, waiting for the realization to kick in.

“Whaddya me-OH.” Brian’s words were choked by tears and embarrassment. He had never felt more dumb in his life. “Oh, I- I need to be dead, don’t i?”

“Directly.” Hermes tried.

“Oh. I need to be dead.” Brian repeated, like a dumbass.

Hermes sighed softly. _ “Directly.”  _ It was like putting together a puzzle with a sleepy toddler, but it suddenly clicked for Brian. “You can't take me directly into the underworld?” 

“No.” Hermes’ expression was like dense ice. Slowly melting but hard as rock. 

“Could you take me close to it?” Brian queried.

“If I do take you, know that it is not suited for mortals down there.” Brian looked down, his eyes welling back up with tears. Was this the last time he’d ever see Pat? He didn't want to leave him. He couldn't conjure up a universe without Pat in it, no matter how hard he tried. It was Pat and Brian against the world, they faced everything together, and he wasn’t sure if he could make it without Pat there beside him. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, sweater sleeves balled up in his fists. 

“Mortal, I did not say I would not. Twas’ merely a warning.” His voice was soft and serious, “However, please heed it.”

Brian smiled then, though the lump in his throat was still present, hope was re-entering him.

“So you’ll take me?” He beamed through tears as Hermes smiled, gently ruffling Brian’s hair.

“Yes. I’ll take you as far as I should.” Brian looked confused at this, but he didn’t have the energy nor willpower to ask about this, as he was preoccupied being carried by a god. He wanted to reach out and touch in that moment, to see what touching a soul would be like. It probably felt like mist, Brian realised, noting how the tips of Pat’s fingers were translucent and dissipating in opacity. His hair was vanishing at the ends, scarlet red blending into the rotting backdrop. 

“Pat? Patrick Gill?”

“He cannot talk, as he does not have a body anymore. This is just his soul. Not thoughts nor flesh.”

“Will he be able to? Ever?” Brian said as he looked up from stroking Hermes wings. Hermes was silent for a moment.

“I will not deny any possibilities.” Hermes was hesitant, for an all-knowing god.

“Have you seen it happen before?”   
“I do not linger.” 

“Oh.”

The world felt short and different. Upsetting and loud. He couldn’t see, only feel twinges of pain now and then. Everything felt hazy and warped, the dizzying colours from when pat first fell returning to his vision full force. He felt nauseated and light-headed, like his brain was spinning in his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that’d help. It didn't.

He could feel Hermes lay him on the ground, amongst a blank landscape. It looked like someone painted over a Monet, trying to salvage the canvas. He felt cold and alone and.. If blue was an emotion. Not a blue as in sad, but a deep, almost purple-blue.

“This is as far as I can take you,  ἄνθρωπος . Once I disappear, you are on your own,”

Hermes smiled sadly, gently brushing the hair out of Brian’s confused face. Before he even got to speak, to ask Hermes to stay a little longer, the God was gone, disappeared with the soul of his best friend. Brian lifted his head up just enough to look around.


End file.
